


Filled to the Brim

by onceuponamoon



Series: Object Insertion [1]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Object Insertion, Rimming, Sexual Content, Van Days, mentions of underage masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 03:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/pseuds/onceuponamoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This, whatever <i>this</i> is between them, has been a long time coming.  Frank and Gerard, a gravitational pull with laws of physics and everything guiding them toward one another and apart only long enough to build the momentum for slamming them back together again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Filled to the Brim

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrankIero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankIero/gifts).



> This is long overdue. For Maria. (I hope it's everything you wanted!) Unbeta'd. Feel free to leave a comment here or in my askbox on tumblr.

This, whatever _this_ is between them, has been a long time coming. Frank and Gerard, a gravitational pull with laws of physics and everything guiding them toward one another and apart only long enough to build the momentum for slamming them back together again. 

During shows it goes too fast for Frank to focus on, the way he’s drawn toward center stage regardless of his amp’s pull or common courtesy which means that he’s basically a fucking dick most of the time. Otter keeps the beat with the help of Mikey, Ray and Gerard do the melody and counter-melody thing or whatever, and Frank is supposed to be in charge of the rhythm. So he takes control, only it’s more like the rhythm takes control of _him_. 

Basically, it’s sex. 

Putting on a show for others to see and enjoy and be proud of. Maybe that’s more like porn. Either way, Frank fucking makes love to the music every time he’s on that goddamn stage and being up there that very first time with a sweaty, spitting Gerard started the timer for their inevitable detonation. It’s been a countdown since then, crashing together, wrenching apart – dizzying and resolute. Every conversation, every time they’re alone with one another, every glance and every touch, it’s all playing with fire and spurring it brighter.

Frank has always been a little reckless.

 

*

 

It starts with Frank confessing in a slurred had-a-bit-too-fuckin’-much-to-drink drawl, just a simple, “Sometimes I like to shove things up my ass,” while he’s lying in the back of the van after toking up, sharing a few beers with Gerard who’s slumped against the Leaning Tower of Merch. Though it hadn’t seemed like Gerard was even listening, he gives a sluggish smile and lifts his can in a toast-raise before he chugs down the rest of his beer. Frank’s responding giggle is molasses slow and thick, a slow-mo Japanese schlocky swamp creature of a thing even to his own ears. Maybe the pot was laced with something.

Oversharing serum, maybe.

“Like when I was, I dunno, thirteen,” he continues, rubbing at his belly until his shirt is rucked up, cotton wrinkled like a cheap promise, “and I’d jerked it so much that I was almost bored with it. I just kept thinking, ‘There’s a way to make this more awesome.’ Awesomer? Awesome. Ya know?” He laughs again and the molasses monster rears up and consumes everything in a ten-foot radius. “And, well. Wanna know what I used that first time?”

Frank makes big cow eyes until Gerard, cheeks pink, looks over at him instead of the van floor’s purled brown carpet, and then his mouth curls in barely contained hysteria. The streetlight three parking spaces over casts a weird orange glow to him, slanting in between the tower of boxes. He looks, one hundred percent obvious, from Frank’s puffy eyes to his puffy lips, pursed around the edge of the can, lip ring clinking dully against the aluminum.

“What’d you use?” Gerard slurs, eyes darting mouth to carpet to eyes to mouth like he’s trying hard not to watch but getting dragged in again and again like the most persistent of quicksand.

“A fuckin’ _marker_ , dude,” Frank guffaws. He halfway expects Gerard to be horrified about the defiling of sacred art supplies, so he says, “Cap still on, of course. Like,” and then breaks off into a snort. “I swear to god. I think – I’m pretty sure anyway – I was hanging out with my cousins and we were coloring fuckin’ Superman outta a coloring book ‘n I was just like...’Huh’ and when they left I hid it and –” He breaks off, coughing, and then stops looking at Gerard. Blank stare fixed at the van’s roof, Frank loses any fucking filter he might’ve had a chance at grasping. “Kept it under my mattress for like a week and kept thinking about it ‘til finally one night I couldn’t take it anymore. Shoved it up my ass and came like a freight train.” Laughing again, Frank curls onto his side and ends up clawing his way up, shoving at Gerard’s shoulder. One of the boxes tumbles onto its side and spills a few shirts. “Dude, c’mon, you know that’s fuckin’ funny.”

Something strange crosses Gerard's expression, something that Frank usually only sees when Gerard’s struck with inspiration, casting about for his sketchpad, or a fucking receipt if there’s nothing else, like he’s holding on and doesn’t want to lose what his mind’s eye sees. After a swallow, the bob of his adam’s apple hypnotizing in the dim light, Gerard roughs, “Yeah, sure.”

“Didn’t know a thing about lube, though,” Frank finally adds. There’s only two fingers’ width left in the can, so he downs it, crunching the can in his fist before he goes on to slur, “And let me tell ya, spit is not an adequate substitute.”

He chucks it into one of the boxes.

“Well, yeah.” Gerard’s slanted, considering look is more of an attempt at coolness than anything. “So, uh. How’d it – did it even go in?” he asks, like he’s only interested in the logistics. 

With shaking fingers, Gerard clumsily fumbles down over his pockets, doing the pat-pat cigarette search that Frank’s all too familiar with himself, but the direction of the motion reveals the thickened line of Gerard’s dick settled against the swell of his balls.

Frank sucks in a breath at the plummet his gut takes. He clears his throat. “It was a little rough going at first. Which makes sense, right?” Frank takes his crushed pack out of his back pocket and tosses it to Gerard, lying back until his head’s touching the bottom of the very back row of seats, legs bent at the knees with one foot resting between the sprawl of Gerard’s. “It was...I dunno, a lot thicker than I thought it’d be. Smooth.”

With a drag and a cough, Gerard’s got his cigarette lit and he’s glancing down at Frank again, equal parts curious and eager beneath the cellophane coating proclaiming what a sweet deal there is inside. “Right,” he says casually, tossing the crumpled pack back to Frank. There are three left, a little bit bent but still useable. “Pretty easy then, huh?”

“After, yeah,” Frank affirms. He takes one of the bent cigarettes and kicks at Gerard’s thigh until he gets the hint, hand front and center, flame flickering by Frank’s mouth. “Once I got it in, it felt like it just kept going and going, catching a bit ‘cause it was still sorta dry, ya know? I was thirteen, it wasn’t like I could deepthroat the marker. All I had were skin mags anyway, wasn’t like I even knew what that really was.” Hand straying to his belly, Frank rakes his nails against the hot skin and hitches his knees up just a bit, his heel bumping into Gerard’s thigh. He leaves it there. Voice rough, Frank continues, “In theory, sure. In practice, not so much. But shit...it felt so fucking _good_ , man.”

Around his cigarette, Gerard makes a noncommittal noise, but shifts restlessly against Frank’s foot. Frank smirks.

“But, Jesus, it wasn’t enough. I was jerkin’ it so hard that it almost didn’t matter, but I just –” It’s a near thing, but Frank swallows down a sound. He palms at his jeans until his dick isn’t pressed so tight against the zipper and ashes against the nearest merch box. “I wanted fucking more, Gee. I was on my back, gagging for something bigger, something to stretch me ‘til it felt like I couldn’t take anymore.”

Subconsciously, Frank’s legs spread a little wider, playing his memory out a little bit with the way it makes his hips hitch up just a bit. When he rolls his head over, Gerard shifts again, almost humping against Frank’s ankle and something about it makes Frank laugh again, even as the pins-and-needles torture of teasing takes its toll on him as well. Gerard’s cigarette is wasting away between his fingers, ash curling and falling to the thin carpet. His eyes are barely more than slits, mouth open just a little, just enough that Frank wants to scramble upright and stick his cock between his crooked lips and give him a real reason to make that expression.

The double doors to the back of the van open, sudden and loud, and Frank shoots upright, Gerard scrambling back from Frank’s foot in what’s more self-preservation than fear of being caught. Head swimming, Frank laughs at Otter’s stupid fucking face.

“Problem?” he slurs, reaching over Gerard for another beer.

“You fuckers finished?” Otter asks. He spits off to the side of the van and swipes the heel of his palm up his nose. “We gotta head out soon.”

Cracking the tab, Frank says, “Yeah, sure man,” and grins before he takes a massive sip of beer fizz. He coughs and Gerard huffs a laugh around his cigarette, nervous and amused. Leaning over, Frank takes it out of Gerard’s mouth, bites on Gerard’s lower lip for a second and then sucks down the rest of his cigarette. “Thanks, baby,” he coos. 

Otter’s face is priceless (and so is Gerard’s when Frank pulls back, which makes Frank wonder if the countdown is almost up – if it would’ve been up had Otter not interrupted).

 

*

 

It happens like that again – Frank running his mouth (about his first venture with the textured handle of a hairbrush, this time) and Gerard casually asking questions with the hard-on of all hard-ons sitting pretty in his pants – only this time they’re twenty minutes ‘til stage when someone, Toro this time, finds them. (Toro is oblivious to the tent in Frank’s pants and the way Gerard’s breathing has gone all heavy and ragged, asking them if they can listen to a riff or something before they go on. The entire time Frank side-eyes Gerard’s crotch just to make his cheeks go red.)

It happens like that a few times, actually, Frank teasing, drifting just close enough for Gerard to reach out and touch just before Frank has to pull away. They’re always interrupted, either by Ray with a question, or Otter telling them to move their asses, or Mikey who’s abhorred by seeing his brother all hot and bothered.

Five days left of tour and they’ve got their very last hotel night. 

They’re all just bumming around before they go on stage, and Ray’s debating on whether or not to use a whammy bar on stage and something about the way the light catches it as he screws it in sends Frank’s gut hot. His breath catches and his fingers stiffen on his e-string, a twang ringing out before he can get himself back into gear. Gerard notices, attuned to everything Frank does or pointedly _doesn’t_ as of late. Ray gets it set up, strikes a chord and flicks the bar and all Frank can think about is how fucking good it’d feel to slide it into his asshole or, better yet, have Gerard do it for him. 

Clearing his throat, Frank encourages, “Hell yeah, you should. Page and Van Halen used them, so why the fuck not, man?” and then Ray frets that it might change his sound too much – but Frank’s drawn back to Gerard, the heat in his eyes, as Ray susses it out for himself.

Right before they go on, Frank kisses Gerard, just a quick drag of their lips, before he pulls away and says, “Remind me to tell you a story tonight.” 

On stage right after that Gerard is a screaming, sweaty mess with filthy banter in between songs. Frank doesn’t remember the last time he’d played so hard, and they all just fucking _kill_ it. Half the time Frank’s on his back and the other half he’s kicking around stage, whirling around like a goddamn tornado – or maybe it’s Gerard who’s the tornado and Frank’s the debris, stuck in that rotation without a chance of escape until it’s all over. And fuck good, that shit feels _great_.

Though he’s ready to get the fuck to the hotel and shower, Frank spends post-show time with the fans, taking pictures making goofy faces and signing all kinds of shit. It’s the usual drill and that helps keep him grounded in the present. 

After a bit, the crowd disperses and Frank’s left with the stragglers hoping to get more face-time with him or free merch or another signature or whatever, and they’re usually Frank’s favorite to talk to because they’re usually sincerely apologetic about hanging around and keeping Frank but so _so_ not because they’re always the kind to spark some kind of passionate discussion about how My Chem has saved their life. And that’s what Frank fucking lives for. 

The very last group tonight, though, consists of a couple of chicks and a few dudes leaning against this brick partition. One of them calls Frank over, and he kind of eyes the open venue door before he heads over, ignoring the antsy look Gerard shoots when he sees that Frank’s not anywhere near ready to cater to Gerard’s whims or, Frank supposes, have story time that might or might not finally detonate the ticking time bomb between them.

“Hey, what’s up?” Frank says, waving a bit as he heads over, one hand shoved into his pocket. The leader of the pack is a stocky chick with the sickest combat boots Frank has ever seen, so he asks, “Dude, are those custom-made?”

“Did the spikes on my own,” she replies coolly. She blows the cigarette smoke from her nostrils and Frank kind of wants to roll his eyes, but refrains. Barely. 

The spikes sort of remind him of a plug he’d conned Hambone into buying him when they were sixteen and smoked a joint too many and Frank was so horny he couldn’t see straight. Frank shivers, because fuck, it turns him on just thinking about the damn thing. It had been silver, silicone and cool to touch at first, thin until it got so thick Frank thought he might not have been able to take it and _shit_ , it had been the best thing he’d shoved up inside himself until he’d discovered the joys of – he clears his throat.

“Sweet,” he comments. He sticks his other hand in his pocket and kind of sways back and forth. 

One of the dudes asks him if his guitar pick ups are all the same shape and then if he’s ever thought about changing processors, and it takes a second, because Frank thinks the dude is trying to sell him something, but he realizes that this guy honestly has no fucking clue what he’s talking about. Probably never touched a guitar in his life. So, being an asshole in disguise, Frank spouts off some shit that sounds like he’s imparting words of wisdom and the guy nods along and smiles dumbly.

After a bit of bullshitting, the chick with the boots goes, “So we’re gonna head back to Sid’s and do a few shots, drink some beers, shoot the shit.” _Here comes the invite._ “You interested?”

Scrubbing a hand over the shaved side of his head, Frank bites at the side of his lip and tongues at his ring. “You know what?” he says, “I’ll go ask the guys what the plan is for tonight, and if it’s the same old then we just might take you up on that.” With a cheesy grin, Frank wheels around and jogs back inside the smoke-hazy venue. 

Gerard’s standing right on the opposite side of the door, arms crossed and tap-tapping his foot like he’s pissed, eyes on the scuffed floor. There’s the vague involuntary-information-influx of Mikey chatting up the venue’s bartender, Ray and Otter drinking beers a few feet away from that, the flicker of the light right over the door that casts a weird yellow light over half of Gerard’s face. It accentuates the sharpness of his nose, the crest of his cheekbones and the deepness of his eyes.

“Hey,” Frank says, ignoring the flush in his cheeks. “Those kids out there were –” 

With no warning whatsoever the breath is knocked right out of his chest, shoulders wedged up against the wall, and Gerard’s looming over him.

“So is that how it is then?” Gerard asks, fingertips digging into Frank’s hips.

“That’s how what is?”

Jaw clenched, Gerard takes a deep breath and then goes, “You _flirt_ with me. In the van, on stage, all the fucking time. Then you go over there and you’re giving that girl the whole head-to-toe and you think I’d –” He cuts himself off and gives a quick look over his shoulder. “You _promised._ ”

Frank can’t help the smirk that creeps up onto his face. _This_ is what he’s been waiting for apparently, the acknowledgement on Gerard’s part, because he’s kept to himself all the filthy shit he’s been thinking. Well. Sure, okay, he’s told Gerard about what he’s done to himself, and what adventures those have been, but the whole time he’s kept in what he wants _Gerard_ to do to him and now it feels like the cup’s filled to the brim and more’s on its way and it’s all threatening to spill right the fuck over – 

“It was her boots,” he finally blurts, breath coming quicker, “the spikes. Reminded me of a plug I used to have, dunno what happened to it.” The change is immediate in Gerard’s expression, contained rage turned to lust in a split second. His eyes flit to Frank’s mouth. “But, no. I promised. I don’t break my promises.”

Quiet again, Gerard huffs out, “Oh?”

Frank hums an affirmative, still tucked up neat against the wall. “Ya know,” he comments, quirking an eyebrow, “Jealousy kinda suits you. Gets you all passionate and shit.” He bites his lip to quell his smirk, watching the way heat flickers and flares in Gerard’s eyes.

Hearing footsteps approach, Frank jabs Gerard in the ribs and squawks, “Help!” because Ray will be oblivious to the goings on between them anyway. He runs away, leaving Gerard to Ray’s devices, and goes to tell the kids that they’re actually gonna turn in early – because it’s sort of true, though he supposes he could just tell them that he plans to do some thieving and then spending his night with Gerard on scratchy hotel room sheets, but well. 

Going around back, Frank lights a cigarette and sneaks into the van, rifles through the guitar cases until he gets to Toro’s. The streetlight glares at Frank’s prize, smooth metal so goddamn appealing that Frank’s tempted to give himself a taste – just shove his jeans down and rub it across his hole – right then, risk be damned. Instead, he tucks it into his pocket, heavier than he’d expected, and goes back to find the guys.

 

*

 

The thump that Gerard’s bag makes when it hits the floor could be some kind of foreboding sign to signify the final notes for all of their dancing around. Maybe it’ll end with a dip, too – Gerard dipping his fingers into the little tub of Astroglide to slick up the whammy bar burning a hole in Frank’s pocket, hopefully.

Frank snickers to himself, and tosses his shit down too, shaking his head and waving a hand whenever Gerard gives him an inquisitive look. “Nothing,” Frank says, waving it off with a hand, “I’m just fucking funny.”

“Sure you are.”

“No, really, I am. But don’t worry, I’ll keep it to myself.” Frank flops down onto the bed closest to the window, knocking his elbow on the night table in the process. It smarts and Frank curses. He rolls his eyes when Gerard snickers, and then delves straight into what he’d promised – no hesitation, no segue, just, “It’s not so much the size as it is the texture, you know? Not always, anyway,” as he leans back to shove his jeans down his hips.

For a moment Gerard looks a little bit confused, like _weren’t we just talking about_ – and then the realization paints his brow smooth. His gaze stays steady on Frank’s eyes, so Frank goes ahead and snags his briefs into the mix.

“Because I’m not, like, a size queen or anything. I’ve never tried a Pringles can or a monster dildo – but this one time, I ordered a vibrator that had a super thick base, and it was, ugh –” Frank stutters to a pause, kicking his jeans and underwear off, slinging them into a haphazard pile between the beds and the standard dresser featuring a bolted-down television. They land with a muted clang. Right by Gerard. _This should be good_ , he thinks, smirking. He flops back on the mattress after that, the comforter scratching against the bare skin of his ass. “Not my favorite. I don’t think I’ve used it much since.”

“So it’s not a, uh,” Gerard begins, blinking and clearing his throat as he shifts his weight from side to side, “size thing, then.”

“ _Texture_ ,” Frank reiterates. He pulls his shirt over his head from the back collar. Gerard’s always been such a slut for Frank’s ink and this time is no different. There’s an automatic shift in his stance, like Frank’s drawing him in or something, and he bites his lip, fingers twitching. Frank smirks and leans back to show it off.

“What would you say is the best texture?” Gerard’s eyes are intense when they land back on Frank’s. 

Frank tilts his head from side to side, works his jaw, and slides a hand down his chest. He hums, considering, and runs his fingertips through the scratch of his pubes. “It kinda depends on my mood. Or the situation. I go through cravings.” With his index finger and thumb, Frank grips around the base of his cock, watching the way it fills and twitches. When he looks back to Gerard, he’s practically vibrating in place, eyes shiny-wide with intent. “Mind taking off your fucking clothes?”

“Cravings,” Gerard muses, tugging at the bottom of his shirt. He looks down at it, frowns, and shrugs out of his jacket before he makes another attempt. “I get cravings.” Gerard’s hair goes all cockatoo when his shirt hits the floor and Frank smiles appreciatively at his pale chest, soft stomach. 

Gerard’s pretty much pale everywhere, speckled with beauty marks that Frank wants to kiss and bite more than anything in this _world_. “C’mere,” he says, sitting up and reaching for Gerard.

Eager as ever, Gerard stumbles toward the bed and promptly trips over Frank’s tangled jeans, giving a shout just before he manages to right himself. “Jesus –” He bends, shakes Frank’s jeans until the whammy bar tumbles to the floor. “What is this doing – _oh_.” 

The air whooshes out of the room like they’ve been thrown into space, the vacuum of a black hole. It leaves a wake of tension and Gerard’s smirking and Frank’s smirking right back.

“I’m assuming that this is, um. You, uh, want me to –”

“Get the fuck over here, Gerard,” Frank says, giving his cock a squeeze. “No shit I want you to. Been thinking about it all fucking day. Saw you watching me, too.”

Gerard gives a breathless curse of, “ _Shit_ ,” and, whammy in hand, resumes his earlier stumble toward the bed. The mattress creaks under his knees and Frank feels his body heat wash over him wave-like, sun-like. He’s close but still not touching and breathing so roughly that Frank can’t help but lean forward and drag him down. His body covers Frank chest to toes and his bared skin does nothing to quell the anticipation quivers. Easy as anything, Gerard leans in, hazel eyes hesitant, questioning, just before he slots his mouth over Frank’s.

It’s wet and burning, Gerard’s lips and tongue and teeth, and Frank keeps repeating _he means it_ in his head. He says _I mean it_ back through their kiss, through the way one of his hands comes up to rest on Gerard’s cheek without any premeditation whatsoever. Gerard bites at Frank’s lower lip and starts to move, restlessly, like he can’t fucking stay still when Frank digs his blunt nails into the overheated skin of Gerard’s back.

“ _Je_ sus,” Frank hisses, pulling away to catch his breath. Gerard turns his attention to Frank’s neck, sucking long and sharp at his pulse. Neck to jaw to ear. He bites down on the tender hinge of Frank’s jaw down to the point of his chin.

“‘Gee’ is fine,” Gerard murmurs, huffing a laugh as he bends to bury his face in Frank’s shoulder, “if you can’t manage ‘Gerard.’”

Frank snorts, slapping Gerard’s ass – _still clothed_ – with a wide palm in retaliation. 

“You’re such an ass. Take off your jeans, _Gee_.” 

Unintelligibly, Gerard mutters, rolling off to the side. On his back, he shimmies and shoves, one hand still clutching the bar – and fuck, it’s probably all heated now from his grip – until he can kick them off from around his ankle. 

He isn’t wearing underwear. _Surprise, surprise._

Other than giving a mild wheeze, Frank doesn’t deign to acknowledge his findings. He’s quick to push until Gerard’s flat on his back, eyes wide with either surprise or anticipation, and Frank’s straddling his thighs. The thin hairs catch and drag as Frank shifts, settles. Palms on Gerard’s chest, he tips forward until he can get at Gerard’s mouth again. It’s heady, addictive. They kiss until they’re breathless, inhaling each other’s exhales, and Frank’s skin sings when Gerard palms at his hips and there’s a warm bite of metal. 

A thrill of joy shoots through his gut at the thought that he gets to share this. With _Gerard._

Frank’s moan catches in his throat.

“Can’t fucking wait,” he says, his voice little more than a whine as he rocks back to feel the thick length of Gerard’s cock. “Want you to fuck me, after, okay?” Frank watches the frantic way Gerard nods, his face flushed red and sweaty with his hair sticking to his cheeks and forehead, just the way he looked on stage, right when he was getting really into it. His gut twists. “Ugh, fuck.”

Climbing off, Frank flops onto his back with his feet braced, knees up. The mattress’s concavity draws Gerard in and he uses the momentum to settle big and looming over Frank. Blinking up at him, Frank reaches down and tugs at Gerard’s cock. He thinks of all the things he wants to say, teasing and sweet and dirty, and finds vocalizing them too hard with the way Gerard’s face goes slack. His hips buck toward Frank’s. 

Next to Frank’s head, Gerard’s fist is clenched tight around the bar, like a paused punch against the sheets. Frank follows the line of his forearm, tight and trembling and surprisingly muscled until he reaches Gerard’s stupidly pretty face. He lets his grip go slack, palming instead of tugging and starts whispering all kinds of shit – he doesn’t even fucking know what he’s saying, just that he wants it in him, wants it right the fuck now and he wants Gerard to do it but he’ll do it his fucking self if Gerard doesn’t get a fucking move on.

That spurs Gerard into action.

Frank opens his legs wider as Gerard kneels up between them. 

Before Frank knows it, Gerard’s palm is hot against the back of his calf muscle, pushing until his knee is nearly against his chest. Then Gerard’s mouth is against his asshole. Zero preamble. 

“Oh, my f – fuck.” Nerve endings alight, Frank can’t help the way his hips tilt into Gerard’s licking him open. His lips are hot, tongue hotter, one hand spreading him open while the other braces against Frank’s leg. It’s almost too much already in the way it makes his balls draw up tight and his mind swirl with pleasure. “Okay, okay, okay – you gotta stop or I’ll –”

Gerard’s eyes look a little glassy when he finally resurfaces, his chin wet and his lips swollen into slick red. Hesitation writes itself out over Gerard’s features when he asks, “Alright, how do you want me to…?” but Frank’s had _enough_ of that shit. 

He gestures toward Gerard’s hand holding the whammy bar. Gerard lifts it, still unsure, until Frank sits up, closes his mouth over the white plastic bit on the end. Frank doesn’t make a show out of it, not really, but the way Gerard’s eyelids go half-mast tempts him. He’s about to pull off when Gerard slides it against the inside of Frank’s cheek. Frank lets his spit gather until the metal’s slick with it and then he does pull away, lying so his shoulders are flat against the bed.

“Come _on_ , Gerard,” he begs, voice rough. _Fuck_ , he’s so hard.

And Gerard does, this time. He bends Frank’s legs back, practically folding him in half. Frank can’t see it but he can feel the press of the whammy bar, the length of it, against his ass. The tip circles the pucker, slipping and skidding.

Belatedly, Frank realizes he’s making a hell of a lot of noise – grunting little pleas as Gerard continues his teasing, whines when he applies some real pressure, and a loud, shameless moan when his hole gives and the bar finally slides in, smooth and slick and warm from body heat. “Oh my god, oh my _fucking_ –” It feels just how Frank had imagined, fucking _glorious_. “Oh, god, yeah. That’s, that’s...”

Frank’s thighs twitch, jarring trembles, and he’s already way too close. But Gerard keeps sliding it in, and it’s not even that long but Gerard’s going so slow that it feels like forever, endless, too fucking much.

“That’s it,” Gerard says – and _fuck_ , his voice is doing that gravely fucked-over thing that Frank only ever really gets to hear on stage. “Oh, god, this is – Frank, you’re so hot. Taking it so easy, you want it that fucking much.”

“No, _no_. No fucking dirty talk,” Frank decrees breathlessly, “Absolutely none of that.” His stomach trembles. He whines. Sweat beads at his temples, pools at the base of his throat. 

Gerard kneels closer, his thighs bracketing Frank’s ass, and he rubs his unoccupied hand up the back of Frank’s leg. He moves it slowly in and out, dragging in a delicious glide. And Frank feels – it feels fucking _wrong_ that it feels so fucking good, and it’s such a weird thing to like, but fuck. _Fuck_. One look at Gerard’s face and Frank can’t find it in himself to care. 

His voice is a low, quiet rasp when he asks, “Think if I touched your dick, you’d come all over yourself?”

“Don’t you _dare_.” Frank can’t fucking _breathe_.

Laughing, Gerard says, “Wasn’t gonna,” and then hides his grin against Frank’s ass. But in a cheap, cheap, fucking cheater move, he twists the bar up against Frank’s insides until it prods at his prostate.

“Ah!” Frank yelps. The heat is there – bright and staggering like a solar flare – suddenly bubbling up his spine and scorching through his veins. One last twist of Gerard’s hand has Frank coming, shooting up his chest, groaning, trembling, reaching forward to grab Gerard as he shakes apart. Frank’s breaths are hitching, aching things, burning up his chest and his eyes sting with sweat. (They’re squeezed so tightly shut that it’s possible tears join the mix.) He buries his face in Gerard’s neck.

Gerard’s laughing when Frank comes back to himself. He distantly notes the bar clang to the floor. 

“Ah, fuck,” Frank shakily breathes. His legs fall until his feet are on the mattress. Everything feels a little numb, a little dead like all of his limbs have fallen asleep so he’s left with the feedback-static sensation of blood rushing back into proper places. He’d punch Gerard to get him to stop laughing, but moving tickles and hurts so yeah, no go. “Quit laughing at me, fucker.”

It takes a few more dry chuckles before Gerard sobers, saying, “Fucking _Christ_ , Frank.”

“You _knew_ I was close and that I’d been looking forward to it all damn night.” Frank doesn’t get the vibe that Gerard’s going to hold that against him – not with the way he’s grinding his dick against Frank’s hip and belly. He wiggles his fingers experimentally and finds it bearable. Okay. 

“No, no, I mean – That was the hottest shit I’ve ever seen,” Gerard clarifies.

“Oh, yeah?” Frank swipes sweat-saturated hair from his forehead. In a sinuous motion as he can manage, he rolls on top of Gerard, legs secured around his hips. “Think so?” A smirk pulls the corner of his mouth. Sitting upright, Frank settles so that his hips are just shy of Gerard’s reach, right atop his thighs. His junk is soft, sticky, and a hilarious contrast to Gerard’s where his cock is flush against his stomach, nuts tight and flushed an enticing red. “Tell me how it looked, Gee.”

A sound gets garroted in Gerard’s throat and Frank watches the swipe of his tongue against his lips. He looks so damn _turned on_. “I – it was… Fuck, Frank.” Gerard’s hips start a jolted rhythm, shifting like he can’t help it. “God, when I just. When I was rubbing it against your hole the first time I thought you were gonna lose it already. It was –” His cheeks go bright and he licks his lips again. “It was fucking twitching. With every fucking touch, Frank, like you wanted it so bad. Fuckin’ hungry for it.”

Biting his lip, Frank runs his hands up Gerard’s hips, leans forward until he can scrape his nails up Gerard’s chest. He tweaks a nipple. “What else?”

“Uh.” Gerard’s belly jolts. His eyes have a slight glint to them, soft and disbelieving. When he reaches down to either touch his dick or grab Frank’s hips, Frank slaps at his hand, pins it to the bed. Gerard huffs out his frustration.

Frank smiles.

“It looked really fucking good, Frank, what the fuck do you want me to say?”

“Nothin’ baby,” Frank says, “You did great.” He rewards Gerard with a hand on his dick, a few teasing tugs. “It was a lot heavier than I thought it’d be, ya know. But god,” he says, swallowing thickly, “It was so smooth. Felt so good…”

“Uh huh,” Gerard agrees. 

Frank’s gut gives a sharp twist and his dick twitches against Gerard’s hip. He gives Gerard’s one last tug before abandoning it for a nice, slow grind. “Think I want something a little thicker now, though.” His tone is lilting, and if Frank were in Gerard’s position, infuriating. “Know of anything that might work—”

He laughs, suddenly pinned beneath Gerard’s hands, hips, and stare. 

“I swear to god…” Gerard mutters. Diving in, he takes Frank’s mouth in a kiss. It’s scorching, his teeth leaving stinging, sensitive spots for his tongue to soothe and Frank’s groaning into Gerard’s mouth, humping up against him. “You’re _killing_ me.”

“Come on, now,” Frank says, twisting his fingers into Gerard’s hair. “None of that. Hey! Whaddya say you get the lube and a condom out of my bag –”

Gerard scrambles up and across the room and is back before Frank can finish the sentence. Frank giggles, unable to help himself. With little preamble – the sting of teeth on his lower lip, the stretch of fingers prying him open, the heat of Gerard’s breath against his neck – Gerard pushes in, slick hot thick perfect _god_ , with a deep groan. 

All at once it feels like...Frank doesn’t want to sound cheesy, but if it’s in the confines of his own mind it’s not like it matters. 

It feels like home. 

Like everything they’ve ever done, ever said, has led up to this precise moment between them. It feels like the first sip of beer on the hottest day of summer, like waking up in his own bed after sleeping in the van or motels for six straight weeks, like opening the worn cover of his favorite book for another read-through. It’s overwhelming and – Frank has to close his eyes against it. Not so much the intrusion as the intensity.

Gerard doesn’t wait more than a handful of seconds for Frank to adjust, a fact for which Frank is immensely grateful, but instead starts a careful, steady rhythm with his hips, his hands, his mouth. 

At first Frank feels like he’s drowning, bathed in such a suddenly intense affection when Gerard pulls back to look at his face, to ask, “This okay?”

He wants to answer that it is – but it’s too fucking much and his dick is already filling out again between their bellies, so he demands, “Harder, fucking _harder_ , Gee, ‘m not gonna fuckin’ break.” A whine escapes him when Gerard smirks, soft and dangerous with the slow lilt of his hips, reaches down and settles Frank’s legs up around his waist.

The leverage isn’t that great but the angle is deeper and Gerard’s teeth gather up just enough skin on Frank’s neck to pinch. It turns into a gnaw, an ache when Frank hikes his legs higher, locks his ankles, drives Gerard deeper. “Fuck, _fuck_ ,” he pants, reaching up to grab a handful of sweaty hair. “Definitely thicker.” His hole twitches. 

Gerard groans. “Glad I could…” he trails, losing the rest of the sentence with a kiss, a swipe of his tongue against the seam of Frank’s lips, a bite and drag and series of thrusts that make Frank go a little cross-eyed. 

Suddenly there’s air between them, no longer the muggy heat of sharing sweat and breath, and Gerard’s hands are hot against Frank’s legs, pushing them back until the tops of his thighs are touching his stomach and then Gerard’s driving in deep, fucking Frank goddamn _hard_ , tugging him in by the hips to meet each thrust. Frank’s legs are in the air and it makes him feel debauched – even moreso than shoving the fucking whammy bar up his ass. He whines.

“Look at me, Frank,” Gerard pants, “Come on, open your eyes, baby. Look at me, look at me, look at me.”

Frank is _trying_. But his head’s swimming and he’s thinking that, yeah, that sounds about right. Gerard’s such an attention whore, wanting it from everyone, all eyes on him. It only makes sense with their line of profession – but when Frank does it, manages to focus on Gerard’s face (and not the way he’s getting completely and utterly pounded into the mattress), Frank realizes that _his_ attention is the only thing that matters. Now, at the very least, but maybe always. 

The noise Gerard makes is choked, desperate, nearly apologetic. His hands, already branding marks into Frank’s skin, bruise harder. 

“Tell me,” Gerard demands, doling out a slow, dirty thrust that makes Frank clench down. “Tell me how I feel, Frank. How do I – _fuck_. What do I feel like inside you? Am I better than the – oh, _Jesus_.”

A whine leaves Frank’s throat before he can stop himself and he’s nodding, clutching at the crumpled sheets with the accompanying flare of heat, sunspot-hot. “Feels,” he pants, trying to suck in a breath before the next hard thrust. His voice is threaded with a hitching moan when he continues, “so fucking big. So good – thick, _full_. Filling me up, I can’t – _God_ , Gerard.”

And Gerard’s just looming over him, fucking him hard, staring right in his face with dark, glassy eyes. He looks just as fucked over, just as fucking _close_.

“Touch yourself,” he’s saying, “You gotta do it, I can’t. It’s too, I’m trying –”

“Don’t need to,” Frank grits out, because if Gerard just – “Yeah, yeah, like that.”

Gerard’s dick slides past his prostate on the next thrust, but his fingers dig in harder as he grinds in and the next one is spot on. Frank shouts, clutching at Gerard’s shoulders with no other choice but to hold on for the ride. The ride of his _life_. Gerard’s face goes out of focus as Frank’s vision blurs, starbursts exploding as he comes. And comes and _comes_ , shuddering and clenching and trembling, eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh, _fuck._ ”

He’s still convulsing – too sensitive – as Gerard grinds in, deep but fleeting. Gerard groans, simultaneously relieved and desperate as he pulls out, quickly strips the condom and promptly shoots all over Frank. It stripes up his belly where his own mess is cooling, across his nuts, drips down his taint. Gerard shakes, hand still working his cock as it gives one last spurt, rubbing the head of his cock against Frank’s asshole. It twitches.

Immediately after, Gerard looks so fucking spent that Frank gives a hoarse laugh. Gerard’s mouth tilts in a smirk as his chest heaves and he flops down beside Frank, legs tangled up, giving a belated twinge. 

They’re breathing at the ceiling, still trying to figure out how to dislodge from one another when Frank says, “ _Wow._ ” Then he giggles, rolling to flop half on Gerard, spread the mess around a little bit. Sharing is caring, or whatever.

“Ah, god damn it,” Gerard voices. He doesn’t move though; he’s actually kind of laughing too, so Frank counts it as a win. 

“Yep. Shower time,” Frank says without actually making a move to get up. He adds, “In a minute.”

They share the silence, sticky and sweaty and satiated. After a while, Gerard rolls onto his side, staring at Frank again with the dirtiest of smiles and asks, “So what was the story?”

Frank laughs and says, “Fuck if I know now, man.”

 

*

 

In the morning (afternoon, whatever), Frank doesn’t hesitate to drop into Gerard’s space at the diner. He pilfers a few fries and throws sugar packets at Mikey. Ray looks a little frazzled, mind whirring, and Gerard looks suitably annoyed about the fry theft. Otter is slumped in the corner of the booth, asleep.

“Have any of you guys seen my vibrato bar?” Ray asks, taking a bite of his burger. 

Gerard chokes, subtle as ever. 

Pokerfaced, Frank goes, “Nah, man,” and stabs his fork into his salad. “You had it yesterday, right?” He ignores the wide-eyed look that Gerard’s boring into the side of his face and instead regards Toro with the appropriate feigned empathy. “Maybe you left it at the venue?”

It’s burning a hole in his pocket, actually, but Frank sincerely doubts Toro’ll want it back. Frank makes a mental note to buy him a new one and allows himself a tiny, self-satisfied smile when the conversation moves on and Gerard’s hand slides onto his thigh.


End file.
